Savior
by Choice
Summary: Puck might be a tough guy, but even Prince Charming needs his Princess' help every now and again.


**Savior**

* * *

_"Princess, I need you."_

It's four in the morning, and Kurt would be pissed if he had the mental capacity to. (He was _not_ a night owl …or morning person, for that matter.) Thinking it was another one of Puck's lame attempts at goading Kurt into phone-sex, he scoffed and went to drop the call. He stopped short of pressing the 'End' button when he took a better listen to Puck on the other line. His breathing was short and ragged, and-wait, was Puck _crying?_

Kurt was awake in an instant. "Puck, what's wrong?"

_"I…"_ His whimper was small, sounding light-years away. It was strange how something to quiet could be so jarring that it made Kurt's heart leap to his throat. He yanked the covers off of himself and stumbled around his dark room, in search of the light switch.

"Puck-talk to me," he said a mite desperately. "Tell me what's up, alright? I'm here for you." He was surprised by the raw honesty in his own voice. Since when did he care about Puck more than beauty sleep? _More than fashion?_ he asked himself as he tossed on whatever he could find in his haste to get to Puck. God, if he weren't in such a frenzy, he'd be slapping himself-literally slapping himself-for matching Michael Kors with _Hanes._ (Hey, he was a teenage boy: he was permitted to own at least one plain white undershirt the average American wore.)

The other line was bone-chillingly silent. "Puck-_Puck_, answer me!"

_"S-sorry, I… I'm…"_ Puck took a deep, stabilizing breath. _"I didn't mean to bother you. I'll just-"_

"Oh no you do _not!_" Kurt hollered, oblivious to his family presumably fast asleep just above him. "You don't just call me _before_ dawn's shown it's crack and-wait, that didn't come out right." Kurt smiled as Puck chuckled, albeit a bit reluctantly, into the receiver. "You tell me what's wrong, Noah Puckerman, or I will finish you. I have my ways."

Puck stayed quiet for a good minute while Kurt finished shoving his feet into his old Cheerios-issue shoes. _"I just-I need someone here right now."_ The way Puck choked it out made the admission seem painful. Kurt felt his heart clench in sympathy for the other boy. _"Please, Princess? I don't know who else I can call…"_

"Does that make me Ghostbusters?" Kurt joked with a forced laugh. He was already flying out the front door. "I'm on my way."  


* * *

  
Kurt was almost there when the call disconnected with a choked cry. He cursed and gunned his Navigator, zipping down a quiet suburban street.  


* * *

  
He chucked his cell phone in the direction of the passenger seat as he screeched to a stop in front of the Puckerman house. He didn't stop to admire the lovely summer night, the smell of freshly clipped grass on the wind. The melodic choirs of crickets were white noise to the noisy percussion of blood pounding in his ears.

The Puckerman home was unusually quiet. The dark, almost somber silence disturbed Kurt. He rushed forward, intent on barreling the front door down: his mission was a strict "take no prisoners" deal. He was saved from a potential lawsuit when the door flew open. Instead of football-tackling a wooden door, Kurt found himself shoving into Puck's solid, warm body.

_"Oof!"_

They stumbled to the ground in a stunned pile. Puck quickly snapped out of it, though, flailing his limbs around so he was clinging to Kurt as best as he could.

"_Puck!_" Kurt yelped, "_Please_, tell me what's wro-"

"Beth," he choked out into the side of Kurt's neck. "B-Beth… it's-Beth is _dead_."

_Oh my god._ "Wha-how?" Kurt asked dumbly, not fully grasping what Puck was telling him.

"_Please_, Princess," Puck begged through grit teeth, shivering against Kurt. "I… please just make it better…"

Kurt's heart went out to the heartbroken boy, the could've-been father. "Puck…"

"_I need you._"

Kurt gave in and pulled Puck tight to his body, mindless of the fact they were sprawled out on the welcome mat in front of the open door. He didn't know what he could do, if there _was_ a way to actually make things better. At least he knew how to calm Puck down…

He ran his hand down that stupid stripe of hair, reassuring Puck even as the other boy choked on sob after countless sob. "Don't worry, I'm right here-I'm right here, Puck. I'm not going anywhere."  


* * *

  
The following days would be a blur of black-and-white tuxes, full of tears and Kleenexes stuffed in-between a funeral home's couch cushions and apologies for something that was no one's fault. (Except maybe God's, but Kurt kept his opinions to himself for once.)

Kurt would have to suffer through Puck's relentless Google searches on Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, he would have to be yelled at and nearly punched in the face when he finally told Puck enough torture was enough. _"She was my baby girl! My baby girl's dead-she was just a _baby_, God! For fuck's sake, why did you have to take her…!"_

He ended up escorting Puck to the wake and the funeral. Mrs. Puckerman adamantly refused to go, weakly arguing over the fact that it wasn't a _Jewish_ ceremony.

And so he was the one who had to stand beside Puck and listen to his choked, babbled prayers. He was the one who had to hold Puck steady when he finally mustered up the guts to actually _look_ at the unnaturally still body of his daughter. He was the one who took Puck out of the funeral parlor when he began hyperventilating, and he was the one who didn't wince when Puck threw up on his Italian dress shoes.

He was the one who had to watch Puck and Shelby march the closed casket, no bigger than the shoebox that went to his Doc Martens, and he was the one who spent the entire night awake just so he could wake Puck up before his nightmares got too rough.

But he would do it all over again, everything-the tears, the vomit, the bags under his eyes. Because whenever Puck needed his Princess to be his knight in shining (designer) armor, Kurt would always be there.


End file.
